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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547948">Actions Speak Louder</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ornithanonymity/pseuds/ornithanonymity'>ornithanonymity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Arthur works too hard, Blood and Injury, Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Charles recognizes this, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hunting trip, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Spoilers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overworking, talking about emotions like men :)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:47:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ornithanonymity/pseuds/ornithanonymity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Good men recognize other good men; hard workers recognize other hard workers. Arthur Morgan, once the "prize pony" now become the "workhorse" works himself ragged for the people he cares about. During a brief respite, he suggests that he and Charles go on another hunting trip.</p><p>...You know, to make up for the last one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Recognition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur worked hard and did his chores… much unlike some of the Van der Linde gang. He thought he should find it dull, lugging large or heavy things to and fro, refilling things that needed refilling, or doing any of the other common responsibilities about the camp—considering how mundane it all seemed when compared to his other commitments. However, he found he rather enjoyed doing simple—if boring—tasks for the good of the camp more directly. </p><p>He knew that nigh on everything he did for Dutch meant doing for the whole gang, but it wasn’t quite as easy for Arthur to feel much more than a card in Dutch’s hand.... in a game only Dutch himself made and knew the rules to. He felt little more than a thanklessly ordered pawn at times, putting his life on the line at Dutch’s command. With simple chores around the camp, on the other hand, he did them of his own volition, and he needn’t worry for his life as long as the horses stayed horses when he plopped a haybale down in their vicinity. </p><p>Horses—of course—stayed horses. An easy job, on the other hand, hardly ever stayed an easy job.</p><p>And that was it: Arthur liked the reliability in that there were always animals and people to be fed, wood to be chopped, money to be allocated to camp… </p><p>…And he very much liked the direct thanks and praise he received when he did those little things that needed doing. He loved whenever even Kieran thanked him for helping with the horses, when the girls made comments on how strong he was for hauling around a sack of maize, when Pearson made a laughable comment about not needing smarts for such menial farmhand tasks, and especially when even the aloof and unsociable Charles commended him for his hard work.</p><p>“Glad to see someone <em> else </em> in camp working.”</p><p>Still, chores around camp were quite boring. Arthur sometimes wished he could do things that were somehow interesting <em> and </em> well, not so criminal or dangerous. Just a few things in Arthur’s life truly fit the bill, and they were tucked away in such rare opportunities that Arthur often forgot they existed. </p><p>Now, of course, Arthur saw a growing pile of logs that needed chopping, and he decided he’d be so courteous. </p><p>Stripping of anything that made the movements of swinging an axe more difficult and gently placing them aside, he hunkered down and got to swinging. </p><p><em> Chop. </em>The axe split the log clean in two. Conveniently, Arthur noticed Charles walking in his general direction. He set up another log.</p><p><em> Chop. </em>Once again, the log split without issue. Some part of him hoped Charles would come over to thank or commend him for his menial tasks about the camp. Another log. </p><p><em> Chop. </em>A flurry of wooden chips and Charles didn’t look at him… but situated himself to lean casually against the wagon and whittle. He faced so conveniently in the other direction. The thud of a log’s base against the dried tree stump.</p><p>A sharp <em> thunk</em>. As Arthur had been on the downstroke, he caught Charles turning back to steal a glance at him, and the log only split halfway. His face grew a little warmer as he reared back, the log joined to the head of the axe, and he slammed it down to hear and see the satisfying split of wood.</p><p>Their eyes had met for just a moment, Arthur quickly looking away to amend his ineffective swing—but Charles had kept looking… as though entertained by this turn of otherwise smooth events. Charles only smiled to himself before mindlessly whittling at the block in his hand. </p><p>Arthur didn’t dwell on that ghost of a smile he caught on Charles’s typically unsmiling face. He set up another log, and he split it in two. </p><p>With one more log left, Arthur saw Charles pull himself away from the wagon with a sidelong push of his hip. He tucked his knife and halfway-finished hunk of wood promptly away before turning to walk back to Arthur at the chopping block.</p><p>“Thanks for helping out, Arthur,” he said, patting his shoulder and letting his hand slide off as he sauntered past. </p><p>Arthur looked back at him, axe in hand, as Charles walked back to pour himself a cup of coffee. Set, swing, <em> chop</em>.</p><hr/><p>“Spot for you here, Arthur,” Charles offered as Arthur came near to the fire. </p><p>It was only just getting dark at Clemens Point, the sky having turned pink and orange with the sunset. Javier and Hosea were still out fishing; Abigail and John were still bickering, and so were Dutch and Molly; everyone else was off doing what they usually did, and no one but Charles was at the fire. Looking briefly out to the small bit of forest that encircled the camp, Arthur could see moving flickers of fairy-like lights and hear the loud hum of crickets in the surrounding brush.</p><p>Plopping himself on the ground beside Charles, a half-finished bottle of whiskey in hand, Arthur gestured vaguely to the lights.</p><p>“Them lightning bugs over there?”</p><p>“Yup. Fireflies,” Charles said, having raised his head for just a moment before returning his gaze to the orange licks of fire before them. They sat in silence for a few more moments.</p><p>“Hey,” Arthur started after another slug of whiskey, “you… ever wanna go huntin’ again anytime soon? Think I still need some more… instruction from a good teacher.” Charles looked at him and raised his brow, amused.</p><p>“Sure,” he let out in a mirthful huff. “You have anything in mind?”</p><p>“Mm… nah, jus’ wanna go out for something less… criminal, sometime. Besides, I feel like we should make up for our last trip. Those men….” </p><p>“Foolish bastards,” Charles corrected.</p><p>“See, and this’s what I mean. Shouldn’t let some… idiots ruin a perfectly good huntin’ trip.”</p><p>“Maybe you’re right,” Charles hummed, and after a pause of consideration, he nodded. “Yeah. Could always use more deer. Or we could try for some of the boars around here.”</p><p>Arthur nodded too, taking one last slug of a now-emptied bottle of whiskey, then hesitated as an idea swirled around in his faintly swimming head. Charles noticed the pause.</p><p>“What are you thinking?”</p><p>Arthur shook his head and ran his hand over his mouth, sliding it down to mindlessly stroke his chin as he looked up at the darkened sky.</p><p>“Could always make an actual trip of it… maybe head north for elk, or…” Arthur started, trailing off when Charles smiled at him. His stomach turned strangely at the sight. Smiling now himself, he chuckled with a slight furrow in his brow, “What?”</p><p>It was Charles’s turn to shake his head and wipe the smile off his face. “Nothing, Arthur. We can do that. Someone else will have to take up the things we do around camp, though, and with how much the two of us get done, I’d venture to guess it… well… I guess it won’t be our problem, huh?”</p><p>“Right,” Arthur said with a grunt, getting up for another bottle of whiskey, “So you thinkin’ Cumberland Forest, or…?” Charles nodded, readjusting to lean back on his hands where he sat.</p><p>“It’s gonna be a big job, hunting elk. Hope you know what you’re getting into,” he flashed a grin at Arthur as he sat beside Charles once again, incidentally closer on account of Charles’s own shifting and Arthur’s miscalculation when plopping down, a couple bottles of whiskey in his system already.</p><p>“I’m sure it’ll be just fine. I have you,” Arthur reassured, catching a momentary look from Charles, “Besides, even if it <em> does </em> go wrong, it’ll be a… learnin’ experience.” To punctuate that last bit, Arthur clapped his hand against Charles’s shoulder.</p><p>“…Alright, Arthur.” With a glance down at the third bottle he’d seen in Arthur’s hand that evening, he smiled faintly and said, “We’ll leave at the end of the week, then.”</p><hr/><p>“Ready, Arthur?” Charles asked, attaching a bedroll to Taima’s back.</p><p>“Just about,” Arthur said, packing the last of his provisions into his saddlebags; he didn’t know just how long they’d be out, and he didn’t want to go at all unprepared in case the hunt wasn’t so great.</p><p>“Now, just where are you headed off to?” Dutch asked, walking over from the other side of camp. Charles gave Arthur a look, saying something along the lines of: <em> You didn’t tell him? </em>and Arthur’s look to Charles said exactly the same. Dutch looked at them expectantly, Charles already on his horse and Arthur just about to mount his. </p><p>Arthur took the initiative. “We’ve planned a huntin’ trip. Provisions are low, and we thought folks might be gettin’ tired of rabbits and all, so we…,” Arthur started, looking at Charles, who quickly took the reins.</p><p>“Arthur was telling me he’s been spending a lot of time up north, so I offered to show him how to hunt elk. Thought it would be good for him to take advantage, since the rut is coming up. Shouldn’t be gone more than a couple days.”</p><p>Dutch, looking like a parent who didn’t want to spoil the kids’ fun, only nodded and waved them off. </p><p>“Alright. Just come back safe.” With that, Dutch walked back to his seemingly permanent spot in his tent. Arthur mounted his horse. </p><p>“<em>You </em> offered, huh?” Arthur teased. </p><p>Charles looked at Arthur yet again, this time reluctantly amused. “Thought he’d take that better. Than what you were saying, at least.” </p><p>As they rode out of camp, Arthur nodded to himself. He wondered if Charles realized he’d made it sound like this was <em> his </em> idea—not that it mattered.</p><p>Charles spoke once they set onto the dusty road, fiddling with the horn on his saddle, “I thought we might head straight north. There’s a place west of Moonstone Pond I’ve seen and heard a lot of elk passing through. Just east of Cumberland Forest.” Arthur nodded again, coming up beside Charles as the path opened up.</p><p>“Sounds good to me.”</p><p>They kicked into a trot—not too slow, and not too fast. Rabbits ran across the road, herds of deer grazed off in the distance, and the morning turned into midday before either of them knew it. The landscape became more forested and mountainous, and the silence between the two grew so strong even the thought of breaking it felt strange. Arthur wasn’t even sure what they’d talk about if one of them so happened to speak; he knew they both enjoyed one another’s company, and he knew Charles, in particular, enjoyed the comfortable silence they fostered. Still, Arthur was glad they could ride together in silence, communicating briefly in the occasional glance whenever either of them made a noise or spoke softly to their horses.</p><p>“Sorry, Arthur, I’ve really gotta stop for a minute,” Charles said as soon as they entered a particularly thick clump of trees; they were almost there. Briefly confused as to why, Arthur watched Charles as he dismounted, coming to understand once he began to jog out into the trees and undid his belt.</p><p>“Oh. Take your time. Not in any rush. I think.” </p><p>In lieu of anything else to occupy him, Arthur made sure he had everything he needed for just about the fifth time since their departure. For some unknown reason, Arthur was particularly hyper-aware of himself and his belongings. Even though the silence between him and Charles was the norm, it felt different. Things in general, Arthur found, felt different lately. It was almost as though the silence and the occasional glances were feeding into something Arthur couldn’t quite place. </p><p>He and Charles had gotten closer and closer since their descent from Colter, and while Arthur seemed to be the only one who understood just how much Charles valued silence and hard work, that understanding fed into an unsettling, indescribable something. Where the two left words behind, they communicated through action and service, both doing their parts to help the camp, of course.</p><p>But was it just for camp? Arthur wondered. Or were those mutual glances cast to one another throughout the day, those diverted paths just to cross the path or enter the line of sight of the other, and those moments where they shamelessly sought the other’s praise and commendation for their own hard work all more than Arthur had yet given thought to? Was the unspoken something building between them something that was to be confronted on this outing together? </p><p>Was the purpose of this outing for camp, for… <em> that</em>, or did Arthur just really need a vacation?</p><p>As Arthur’s thoughts spiraled and spun around in his head, he hardly even noticed as Charles returned and mounted Taima.</p><p>“Okay, Arthur?” Charles asked, noticing just how distant Arthur seemed—and apparently was. “Arthur?” </p><p>Arthur had heard the first time, but he couldn’t quite manage to tear away from the depths of his wandering mind.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m—I’m sorry; I was miles away. You ready?” Charles nodded, his gaze lingering for just a moment, as though to try and see what had Arthur so distracted before he refocused on the road, shifting a little to settle comfortably into the saddle.</p><p>“It won’t be too far now,” Charles said, raising his voice near the end to speak over the canter they kicked their horses into. “If you’d like to set up camp for tonight, there’s a nice spot coming up here on the right.”</p><p>“Sure; we been riding for quite a while. Gettin’ late.” Without much more than a nod from Charles, they rode in silence until approaching a fork in the main path. Charles led the way, heading right, then slowing after just a few beats. He dismounted before something of a clearing.</p><p>“Just a little further here. I prefer to be a little ways from the roads when I can manage. You understand,” he said, leading Taima to the other side of the clearing and looking briefly over his shoulder at Arthur, smiling faintly at the sight of him looking at his feet.</p><p>“‘Course. ‘S usually how it goes…,” Arthur responded, leading his own horse as grass and wildflowers brushed against his legs. “You know, I headed up ‘round here with Hosea when we was holed up at Horseshoe Overlook. Tried huntin’ a bear the size of a hotel—went about as well as you’d imagine, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“That so?” Charles asked, a twinge of amusement in his voice. </p><p>“Yeah—I think that was the last time I really made a trip out of a hunt like this, too. Even more reason to redeem ourselves with a successful hunt, I’d say.”</p><p>“For sure; let’s hitch ‘em here,” Charles gestured to a conveniently felled tree: just about perfect for a makeshift hitching post. “We’ll set up camp and get up first light. I’ll start on the fire. You got the tent?” Taima snorted upon being hitched, and Charles responded with a pat and a gentle <em> hush</em>.</p><p>“Of course,” Arthur responded, watching the man softly praise his dutiful steed.</p><hr/><p>Upon readying their camp—rolling out their two bedrolls within the pitched tent and starting a steady campfire, respectively—Arthur procured two salvaged bottles of whiskey, snuck from camp before the gang’s heavy drinkers could polish off the crate. </p><p>“Now, I’ve got some real nice brandy elsewhere, but I figured we could settle with these for now. You ain’t a big drinker anyway, right?” The proffered brown bottle sloshed with the gesture.</p><p>“Right. Thanks, Arthur,” Charles smiled and gratefully accepted the bottle, earning a smile right back before the two settled down before the fire.</p><p>They nursed their bottles in companionable silence, listening to the rustling of trees and the wildlife around them singing their last songs of the evening. Charles looked out in the direction of the path as Arthur stared at the dancing flames of the fire, both equally absorbed in whatever their minds entertained them with. </p><p>“You know,” Charles began, looking briefly to his things beside him, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted a vacation from camp… in doing all this. Suggesting this.” The bottle in his hand sloshed as he set it down in favor of fiddling with an arrow, resting his forearms against his knees.</p><p>“Well, now, I—”</p><p>“I don’t blame you. You work hard, Arthur. Too hard, maybe,” he interrupted in still a softer tone of voice, his fingers gliding over the smooth shaft of the arrow in his hands, “Wouldn’t deny <em> me </em> a break, would you?” It seemed easy for Charles to read Arthur’s mind, putting any guilt to rest before Arthur even had a chance to voice it. Ever the pragmatist, that Charles.</p><p>“‘Course not… but I’m—”</p><p>It was uncharacteristic for Charles to interrupt so much, the patient and carefully spoken man he was, and yet:</p><p>“You’re…? What, forever the errand boy? Deserving of working yourself to the bone for all the things you done…? Well, Arthur, I hate to break it to you, but we all done things, and you’re the only man I know who can’t even stand to sit when he eats dinner.</p><p>“I can’t say I know just what you do when you disappear for days at a time, but I know damn well I <em> never </em> seen you give yourself a proper break in all the time I’ve known you.” Charles looked him in the eyes now, speaking directly from within, “No one needs to know, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Everyone at camp knows you’re working hard to feed them the next couple weeks. But around me, Arthur, you can give yourself a break. I mean that.”</p><p>Arthur looked down at the bottle in his hands, swallowed, and let out a strained laugh, surprised at the stinging of his eyes and throat. Blinking away the moisture from his eyes and clearing the burn from his throat, Arthur looked back up at Charles, whose penetrating, truth-coaxing gaze remained right where he left it, and nodded.</p><p>“Sure, I…”—a small cough to try and keep the emotions he felt from showing too plainly—“thank you, Charles.” He swallowed hard.</p><p>He hadn’t realized just how tired he was—not only from the events of today and his poor sleep the night before, but from weeks of endless work. It was as though letting himself relax for a moment brought upon him a weight he’d tried to subdue for so very long. That weight, it seemed, was the gravity that pulled unexpected tears from his eyes. This long-delayed transition from work to rest didn’t come without all kinds of release.</p><p>Embarrassed, Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, using his hand to try and conceal the tears, for wiping them away would have been far too obvious… but it was too late—too slow for a very quick and observant Charles.</p><p>A soft, “Arthur…,” left Charles, unseen beside him, and before he knew it, big arms wrapped around his shoulders, a thumb rubbing soothingly above his shoulder blade. </p><p>If Arthur expected anything in this moment, it sure wasn’t this.</p><p>A couple more tears fell without his consent, urged by this unfamiliar feeling of recognition, understanding, and validation… almost a kind of permission to be so vulnerable. Still, he didn’t want to be.</p><p>“I’m fine, Charles. It-it’s the… the drink, I’m sure—” Charles only squeezed him tighter, doing and saying nothing but until Arthur reciprocated, sniffling as his hand flattened against the wide and undeniably comforting plane of Charles’s back.</p><p>Accepting the embrace and letting the tension in his shoulders melt away, the two stayed interlocked, and despite Arthur’s embarrassment, he felt admittedly better. Unsure of when to break contact and not entirely sure he even wanted to, Arthur closed his eyes and allowed himself to savor the moment: noting how warm Charles felt against him, the sounds of the fire and the early coo of an owl, and the smell of woodsmoke and something previously unidentifiable in Charles’s clothes… which Arthur came to conclude was simply the smell of <em>him</em>.</p><p>A couple pats on the shoulder signified the end of a tryst, private and vulnerable, and they pulled away, a meaningful look exchanged between them. The look held something unknowable to both, deepening the privacy between them. An oath, almost, to <em>keep</em> it private. Without fully noticing he’d done it, Arthur placed a hand on Charles’s thigh—a thank-you, perhaps—and Charles turned to retrieve and polish off his neglected bottle, the gesture grounding the both of them in their own confined realities.</p><p>“Should get some sleep. Early start tomorrow,” Charles started, placing his emptied bottle carefully aside, “But remember everything I said, Arthur. You can relax around me. I see you.”</p><p>Arthur swallowed, ever-uncertain and lost for words. “‘Course. S-same to you, Charles.”</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope y'all enjoyed this first part! :)</p><p>There's more to come—guaranteed! We need more Charles/Arthur content, and I felt it necessary to offer some myself (since I was writing all of this anyway). I'm going to update tags with each chapter, and I URGE you to comment as you'd like! By all means, make suggestions of what you might like to see (family-friendly or otherwise), and ultimately PLEASE continue to enjoy this as we go; you are all in for a very fun ride....</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Hunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Charles and Arthur set out on their hunt for elk after a night of deep conversation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>||CW: BLOOD/INJURY||</p><p>Finally, another chapter; sorry for the delay, friends. I had a difficult time figuring out where to end this chapter and begin the next one, but I've been writing like MAD every chance I've gotten.</p><p>Merry Christmas and happy holidays, friends! :)) Please enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’d settled in for the night, their bedrolls beside one another within the very modest canvas tent. They’d stripped of their more uncomfortable accessories but remained in the clothes they’d worn on the ride up. Arthur wasn’t sure if Charles had done so to encourage a quicker start to the hunt or if he had done so for a lack of privacy—or, rather, the comfortability of changing clothes in a more communal space than such an intimate one as this. </p><p>Arthur hated to admit it, but he knew Charles wore little to no undergarments, depending on the rest of his attire. He wasn’t too shy about changing around other people, but sometimes he caught wandering gazes, and sometimes those gazes were Arthur’s—not that he’d intended to look, let alone notice in the first place. </p><p>Still, he wondered; still, he decided he should stop wondering. </p><p>After their moment, Arthur had once again found it hard to think of anything to say. He might’ve been drinking, sure, but he hadn’t cried like that in front of anyone in a long time—and he was ashamed it had been over something so minuscule as… what, exactly? Was it the stress? The recognition of his hard work? Was it all the crying he should’ve done after the endless misgivings interwoven in the multicolored fabric of his ever-changing life, never allowed an inch of reprieve? Arthur hated to feel sorry for himself, but it felt as though he had… in front of someone else, no less. Why had that someone else been Charles and not any of the women who offered him talks on the outskirts of camp? Dutch, Hosea, or anyone else he’d been riding with for years and not a man he’d only known for less than one?</p><p>Arthur, of course, knew it was because Charles understood to the degree he did. His words had been the key to the ironclad door that held back all those feelings he’d made extra sure to repress. That key, knowing the intricate shape and mechanism of the lock; Charles, knowing exactly what to say to get Arthur to open up, even if only a little. </p><p>Arthur peeked over his left shoulder at Charles, who lay on his back, his legs crossed and his hands folded over his stomach—as he always did. </p><p>“Hmmm…?” hummed a sleepy Charles, undoubtedly noticing anything and everything despite his eyes being closed.</p><p>“Oh, uh… nothin’, Charles,” Arthur replied, taken aback. He hadn’t expected Charles to be awake; it’d been at least an hour since they’d gone through the motions of their settling in.</p><p>“Mm.” Another sleepy acknowledgement. Arthur shifted to lie on his back, staring up at the awkwardly patched canvas of the tent.</p><p>Knowing now that they were lying awake in silence, Arthur couldn’t stop thinking of both the silence and the heat between them. He could swear, even through the clothes on his back, he felt the furnace-like warmth of Charles beside him.</p><p>There was a lot Arthur wished he had the strength to say—to thank Charles again, to do or say anything that might ease his remaining embarrassment for having shown such vulnerability to someone so respectable as Charles….</p><p>He settled for the simple, human comfort of a warm and capable body beside him, and tried to leave his worries for tomorrow’s Arthur.</p>
<hr/><p>“Arthur. Arthur, wake up,” a whisper turned louder, accompanied by a firm shake of the shoulder. “Got things to do.”</p><p>Arthur groaned, covering his eyes with his forearm as he waved Charles away. He’d never been much of an early riser, Charles knew.</p><p>“Charles, come onnn. Just a few more minutes.”</p><p>“No, Arthur,” Charles wavered, stifling a laugh at the mess of Arthur’s hair. “I’ve made some coffee; come on.”</p><p>Arthur let out another long, low groan, muffled in the fabric of his bedroll, before forcing himself to rise. Charles gave him a sidelong glance as he handed Arthur a freshly poured tin of coffee.</p><p>“Thanks,” Arthur grumbled, disingenuously regretting the trip just for being ripped from the sweet embrace of sleep.</p><p>“You mumble in your sleep,” Charles noted with a hint of amusement, breaking a few moments of nothing but Arthur’s drowsy coffee-sipping. Arthur choked into the cup at that.</p><p>“D-do I, now?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Charles rumbled, sipping his own half-drunk tin of coffee, steaming in the cool morning, “something about bison.” Arthur felt somewhat relieved at that. He’d had a history of strange dreams and even stranger somniloquous activity. Charles downed the rest of his coffee.</p><p>“Sorry ‘bout that,” Arthur looked sheepishly over to a preparing Charles, “Did I wake ya?” Charles shook his head, bringing his gun belt around his waist.</p><p>“Was already awake. Nothin’ you had any hand in.” Charles’s hair had been down, carelessly draped over his shoulders, and as he had leaned down to guide the belt buckle’s prong through a punch hole, it fell and obscured his face. Bothered by this, he procured a length of twine and set to tying it loosely back. Arthur watched, wondering why the act had been so endearing and why watching Charles get ready had been so soothing to his sleep-addled mind. </p><p>Arthur finished his coffee, dumping the very last bit, as he wasn’t too keen on chewing the leftover coffee grounds that had made their way into his pour. Charles set to taking down the tent and returning his and Arthur’s items to each of their saddles as Arthur put himself together, making sure to straighten up his hair to the best of his currently limited ability. Arthur noticed as Charles rolled up and strapped in Arthur’s bedroll. </p><p>“Aw, you don’t have to be packin’ up for me, Charles. I can get it in a moment,” Arthur offered, still struggling with the stubborn clasp of his belt. </p><p>Charles just shook his head as he fastened his own bedroll to Taima’s saddle, quietly responding, “Faster this way.” </p><p>“If you say so,” Arthur hummed, finally having put on his belt, “Thanks.”</p><p>“Nothing to it,” Charles smiled at Arthur as he sauntered over to put out the fire. For whatever reason, Arthur felt nervous for this hunting trip.</p><p>After the last of the fire was out and all their belongings were packed away, they saddled up and set on their way, surrounded by the sounds of the forest and the occasional rock kicked up by their horses, who chuffed and snorted when pushed to ride.</p><p>“Let’s ride a bit. Might be a ways before we come across any sign of elk,” said Charles, kicking Taima into a light canter and rubbing his right cheek. Arthur found he often did that and privately wondered what the lightning-shaped scar there had been caused by—as <em> he </em> often did.</p><p>Arthur, as the two rode, allowed himself to descend into the memories of his own scar stories, mindlessly mulling over all the injuries he’d sustained in his 36 years of living. One train of thought led to another, and Arthur found himself recalling all the scars he’d seen on Charles. If Arthur knew anything about Charles, his scars, and the life he’d led, it’d be that he’d lived a life of pain; how he had room for Arthur’s insignificant problems, he had no idea.</p><p>“Charles, wh—”</p><p>Suddenly interrupting Arthur was a shrill cry in the distance: the bugle of an elk. </p><p>“And that’ll be our bull,” Charles decided. “Come on. Got work to do. What do you think, west-northwest?”</p><p>“About that, I think.” A scoff, barely perceptible over the trot of his horse. “You’re the master tracker here; why you askin’ me?”</p><p>“Gonna have to work on your tracking <em> sometime </em>. Now’s a great time. That’s why we’re out here, isn’t it?” Charles asked, and Arthur could’ve sworn he saw him wink.</p><p>“S-sure. Okay then. Yeah, ‘bout that direction.”</p><p>“Well, alright then. Lead the way.”</p><p>That nervousness Arthur had been feeling before setting on their way returned, no longer nullified by the easy lull of a horse’s hoofbeats and the escape he often took into his mind. Still, he led Charles the direction he thought he’d heard the elk, and within just a moment Charles called for him to stop. He’d found elk tracks crossing the path.</p><p>“Alright, Arthur… now a bow might be too weak to down the elk, so you’re going to grab your rifle there. Remember, you’ll only have the one shot, though, so you’re gonna have to make it count. Alright?” Charles rumbled lowly beside him after they’d dismounted. Arthur nodded and grabbed his rifle.</p><p>“S-sure.” Arthur didn’t know why he was so nervous. Surely hunting isn’t as anxiety-inducing as even a simple robbery, where anything could happen. Surely he should be <em> less </em> nervous after being given the go-ahead for using a rifle instead of a bow; he knew rifles well. Bows, of course, were Charles’s expertise. The same, unfortunately went for tracking.</p><p>“The tracks start here, Arthur. Definitely our bull, judging by the size. Fresh too,” Charles whispered, resting his hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he pointed out the direction of the tracks. Arthur only nodded again.</p><p>As they followed the tracks, he felt less and less confident. They ran through the underbrush, where Arthur had to rely on kicked-up leaves, broken twigs, and the occasional track found amongst the dirt. He’d thought he lost the trail until Charles’s palm found its frequent place on Arthur’s shoulder as he silently pointed out the trail. It was getting chillier, but they’d left their coats on their horses. </p><p>He could feel the warmth of Charles’s breath on his ear as he whispered, “I think he’s close. We’d better be quiet.” Arthur couldn’t focus. The nervousness in his gut and the chill of his fingers around the rifle were far too distracting.</p><p>They’d found themselves near a cliff, which was the likely cause of the drop in temperature. There was a light breeze, and before Arthur had fully realized, it carried their scent toward what they’d known to be the bull’s direction. Charles, noticing the same thing, looked back at Arthur. A deep huff came from the direction the breeze blew, the sound of heavy cloven stomps accompanying it. Before the two knew it, a blur of buff hide and the sharpest tines Arthur had seen came barreling toward them quicker than either could process. </p><p>Charles, reflexes quick and certainly quicker than Arthur’s, pushed the frozen man out of the elk’s way, dooming himself to the fate of a snagged leg, cloth and flesh torn in a flash of white and red. </p><p>Arthur felt sick, hearing the sound ripped from Charles as he fell back, the elk charging past. Acting before he could think properly, he brought himself between the elk and a fallen Charles, panting on the ground as he assessed the damage, and readied his rifle, prepared to down the elk in the blink of an eye.</p><p>Through the trees came the elk head-on, charging a second—and final—time. One well-placed shot, and the elk’s body slammed to the ground. </p><p>“Charles. Christ, Charles, I’m so sorry—” Arthur practically dropped the rifle as soon as the elk had dropped itself, turning to his injured friend, his blood painting the dirt beneath him.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Charles groaned, “I will be.” He held his blood-reddened thigh, wincing as he tied what cloth he had around it to stop the bleeding and promptly attempting—and failing—to stand.</p><p>“H-here, let me…,” Arthur trailed off, taken aback by the sounds that left Charles as he helped him to his feet. “R-right, uh….” He glanced between the downed elk and where the deep lacerations had been on Charles’s leg, unsure of exactly where to go from there. </p><p>Charles leaned into Arthur, letting him support his weight so as not to further aggravate his wound; even as he supported some of his own weight, he was heavier than Arthur had anticipated. </p><p>Noticing Arthur’s hesitation, Charles let out a pained chuckle, “We can always take another elk, Arthur. It’s alright.” Arthur let out a nervous laugh.</p><p>“Let’s get back to the horses, then. We’ll uh…,” Arthur looked Charles in the eyes, assessing him and unsure of what else to do, “we’ll… uh.” He felt ridiculous for not being able to think properly. What was going on with him today? He’d always done just fine in handling things like this, but now he couldn’t focus on a damn thing. </p><p>“Arthur,” Charles exhaled heavily, having held his breath, which now glanced Arthur’s cheek. “Let’s start walking. I’m okay.”</p><p>Arthur nodded belatedly, taking a couple tentative steps as Charles grunted with the effort of moving. He looked to Charles, who only shook his head and nodded in the direction they needed to walk, a silent, <em> I’m alright; keep going. </em></p><p>They walked through the trees, carefully stepping where the foliage grew thicker to keep from slipping on leaves or twigs; another fall was the last thing Charles needed right now. Arthur had no idea how much time had passed or exactly how far they’d trailed the elk, but the chill in the air told him it must still have been morning. Charles had begun to quake, either weak on his good leg, from blood loss, or from the cold. As Arthur glanced down, he saw that the cloth Charles had used was already stained red in its entirety, sopping wet and dripping with the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing.</p><p>Arthur felt horrible, and it only worsened as he processed exactly what had happened on the cliffside. Why couldn’t he move? Why’d Charles have to shove him out of the way? It was <em> his </em> fault they’d been out there in the first place— <em> his </em> fault that Charles had been injured. He found himself wishing the elk <em> had </em> gored him. At least then, Charles would have been unscathed. Probably.</p><p>He was brought back to earth by a loud groan, rumbling through the chest held so close to him; a sapling’s branch had thwacked against Charles’s thigh as they walked.</p><p>“Hell, I’m sorry, Charles, I—l-let me get’cha… here,” Arthur sat Charles upon a nearby rock and hastily dug into his satchel. “That brandy I was talkin’ about. Here.”</p><p>Charles gave him a look, his face still contorted with pain before he forced it to relax, taking the proffered bottle and taking a hearty swill as soon as he’d uncapped it. He let out a deep, slow exhale and cleared his throat.</p><p>“Thank you, Arthur.” He eagerly took another drink.</p><p>Arthur nodded, pacing and antsy, finally thinking to retrieve his neckerchief to tie around Charles’s leg. He knelt before him, holding it out with his palms upward. Looking over the shoulder of the bottle, Charles hummed, letting Arthur tie the cloth tightly around the base of his thigh. Earning a sharp grunt into the bottle of brandy, Arthur winced and apologized.</p><p>Charles lowered the bottle, looking down at Arthur, who looked back up at him with a million unsaid words of apology on his tongue. Somehow in his gaze Charles soothed him, always saying more than he spoke in words. Charles couldn’t be mad at him for this. Still, Arthur felt horrible.</p><p>“…You feel that?” Charles asked, the mood having shifted. “The static in the air… rain on the wind. A storm’s coming.” He faced the wind, and Arthur’s gaze followed his. Sure enough, dark approaching clouds painted the horizon between the trees—storm clouds heavy with rain. “Day just keeps getting better, doesn’t it…?” His breathing had slowed, but it still came in heavy puffs; Arthur could tell just how much pain he was in.</p><p>“Lord, Charles, I’m real sorry. We oughta find someplace dry…. There’s gotta be someplace suitable ‘round here.” </p><p>“Don’t worry about me,” Charles shuddered as Arthur helped him to his feet once again, “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“No, we’re findin’ someplace safe and dry to patch you up. Got no other choice.”</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THANKS AGAIN FOR READING!! Sorry for where I left it off, but I PROMISE you can see a new chapter very, very soon....</p><p>As always, kudos and comments are VERY appreciated. Feel free to make suggestions or requests....</p>
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